Ice Rink, After Hours
by froyozensight
Summary: America attempts to console Russia after Plushenko looses to Lysacek in the Winter Olympics. Besides the fic being terribly late, it is DEFINITELY Russia/America and rated M for a reason.


It was incredibly nervous that America slowly walked down to the Olympic ice rink through the stands. The Men's Figure Skating had finished just a few hours ago, and while nearly bursting with excitement about winning the gold earlier, he couldn't help but feel bad for the silver medalist country now.

Russia was normally top dog in figure skating after all.

As he walked, America saw the lone figure on the ice lazily skating to and fro: no fancy tricks, none of the infamous quads, just skating, a scarf billowing out behind him. He grinned a little at the sight and clutched his hands tighter around what he was carrying. Hopefully it would ease a bit of the hard feelings between him and Russia. He knew how much Russia had wanted to win. How sure Russia had been of that supposed victory.

America didn't say anything when he reached the bottom. He just watched Russia skate in long, languid circles with his blue eyes, not wanting to disrupt the quiet of the arena that not that long ago had been brimming with American patriotism. The younger country became so wrapped up in his nostalgia that it wasn't until the russkie spoke that he realized the skater had stopped to lean against the side by him.

"The ice is beautiful, da? This rink is one thing that Matthew did right." Russia turned his purple eyes to meet America's blue. There was no emotion in them. No anger, no tenderness, nothing. Just purple. "Why are you here?"

"I…I wanted to talk to you." It was hard for him to admit to one of his biggest rivals, but America felt that today was definitely a step up. If Lysacek could do it, so could his country.

"Ah," began Russia, turning away from America, looking over the ice again, "You have come to rub in my face your victory once more."

"W-What? No! I…I…" America felt his face beginning to flush when Russia faced him again, his eyes still purple, but now full of an emotion he wasn't sure was good or not: hunger. Hoping that Russia wasn't thinking about cutting him up with skate blades and feeding him to Plushenko, America bowed, holding out what he had brought for the Slavic man. "Here! These are to say that while I'm not sorry I won the gold, I think your skater was just as qualified and I really admire his progress."

Russia stared at the small bouquet of sunflowers in what little bit of awe managed to escape onto his face. Then he grinned, but not an amused grin or even a flattered one. It was a hungry one.

America didn't look up until he felt the flowers tugged out of his hands, and when he did he saw Russia smelling them while grinning at him with a grin that made a chill run down his spine. Somewhere in the back of his mind, America felt like he should be running right the hell out of there.

Paralyzed by that haunting grin, America stood dumbfounded as he watched Russia exit the rink, sit the flowers down on a chair, and turn back to America with a pair of skates in his hands.

"Skate with me."

Another shiver racked his body as America heard the distinct command in the older man's voice where normally a suggestion might be.

Taking the few cautious steps forward, America murmured, "I'm not really that good…"

"Da, I know. I will teach you how." Russia practically shoved America into a chair to help him slip on and lace the skates, which wasn't difficult as America seemed to have lost all his normal boisterous and invincible nature outside of the building, allowing the bigger man to do as he pleased.

"There. Now stand." Wobbly at first, America eventually managed to stand up relatively straight on the skates, and smiling a little he looked at Russia. The man looked almost starved now. His smile almost faltered.

America had barely registered this look as 'probably not good' when he was ungracefully shoved onto the ice. Unable to prepare himself for the slippery surface, America promptly fell on his ass the moment he'd been on the ice for a couple seconds, emitting a strangled yelp as he did so.

Russia's amused childish laughter filled the stadium with its echoes.

A true blush spread across America's face as he tried to stand up, only to be met with repeated failure. There was a reason he liked the summer Olympics better.

He was surprised when a strong arm lifted him up by the back of his jacket.

He was even more surprised when Russia not only didn't let go of his arm, but actually wrapped a protective arm around America's waist. The next thing the Yankee knew, he was skating, side-by-side, with Russia around the same rink their two men skaters had competed in the past couple days.

At first he was afraid the Slavic was going to just let go randomly: Russia was known for sporadic cruelties. But when they were still going around after a couple minutes, he began to think that it might be a secret skating torture that the Russians invented a long time ago that no one knew about except for the oldest Russians.

Musing over how quiet the normally obnoxious man was, Russia just enjoyed their slow orbit of the rink. He was especially delighted in how warm the younger man was, and upon a further thought…he felt the need to make him warmer rise up within him.

Despite all his suspicions about Russia's next move, America had honestly not expected to be shoved down to the ground. His impact extracted a soft whimper from the nation, and rubbing his head, America looked up at Russia with an annoyed and incredulous stare.

"What the hell was that f—"

Blue eyes wide, the normally arrogant Yankee was dumbfounded by what was happening. In reverse, the oxymoronic cheerful and stoic russkie was almost second guessing himself. However, he smirked when America finally seemed to comprehend that the kiss was real and intentional. America then began returning the kiss with earnest, and that was all Russia needed to proceed.

Kneeling down so that he straddled the fallen American, Russia shoved his companion further onto the ice, their lips still connected. With a small wince, America refused to break their connection just because the ice was impossibly cold. He couldn't have even if he had wanted.

Finally, after almost a minute, Russia pulled away. Heavy pants came out of America, but the Russian seemed hardly affected by the elongated lip-lock.

"If that was a thank you for the flowers, then you're welcome," mumbled America, his blue eyes braving to show the amusement he felt. Russia grinned back, and this time America knew what kind of hunger it was he saw in his fellow's purple eyes: lust.

"No more talking Alfred." Russia continued to grin, and America was having trouble distinguishing if his shivers were from the grin or the ice. "At least not until we are to the point where you scream my name…"

Again, America marveled at how Russia transformed what was normally a statement as a strict command. He was prevented from thinking too much about it any further when Russia attached himself to his lips again.

In a feeble attempt to regain a little control, America tried to retain some power over the kiss, but his attempt was sent o Siberia as Russia forcibly inserted his tongue into America's mouth.

When they stopped to breathe again, Russia said darkly, "Do not fight, Alfred; it will only make things harder."

"Sorry Ivan," began America, a rebellious smirk on his face, "fighting is in my nature."

To his surprise, this response seemed to please Russia as the next thing America knew, the Slavic was attacking his neck feverishly. America groaned wantonly. He was still having a little trouble believing that he was seriously making out with Russia—the coldest member of the G8 meetings, not to mention the country he just out-skated in the Olympics. Russia seemed to sense his thoughts were elsewhere and bit down hard on America's neck, causing it to bleed underneath the skin.

"Ow, damnit!" exclaimed America, accidentally bucking against Russia to escape the pain.

"Try not to let your thoughts wander, Alfred. Then again," Russia paused to let a hand wander down to America's crotch. America blushed and jumped at the sensation of the bigger man cupping his clothed genitals. "I do think you rather like being hurt…"

America couldn't get words to come out of his mouth. He just stared, shocked at Russia's devious face. Russia took the moment of silence to dive in for another kiss, which was much more aggressive than before. Biting America's lower lip gently, the russkie began to leave a trail of kisses from the patriot's mouth to his neck once more, where Russia licked his previous mark in slow, sensuous motions. America bucked against Russia, but this time on purpose.

America was getting cold. He wanted to do this and get warm. Then they could talk.

Russia seemed to have a different plan. A plan that involved a certain nation begging, pleading, to be one with him. So he continued on his merry way, planting hickies all over America's neck to make sure the younger man would know to whom he now belonged.

Practically writhing under the Russian's mouth, America moaned constantly, wanting him to move on, but then wishing he would keep going/ he let out a gasp when one of Russia's ice-cold hands slipped under his shirt.

Russia chuckled as he squeezed a hand on one of America's nipples and on his captive's crotch at the same time, eliciting an especially loud moan from the trapped man.

Soon both of the Russian's hands were on the American's chest, while the Slav himself focused his lips on the yank's swollen pair. America did and didn't appreciate this. It felt incredible, but he was finding it increasingly difficult to breathe. Russia didn't like to break off when America gasped in pleasure. Instead the russkie just swallowed the patriot's exhaled air.

Eventually Russia left his lips alone and reassigned his mouth to attack America's chest after he tore the shirt off. Nipples already alert due to the ministrations of Russia's hands, America felt like screaming when Russia licked a circle around one nipple in a tantalizing circle. He did shout when the Russian did it again.

Russia kept up his newly found favorite torture for the man beneath him until America breathed out, "I-Ivan, please…"

"You know what you must say in order to finish…" He was being cryptic, but Russia also knew that America understood him. America closed his eyes tightly.

"B-But…my boss…"

"There is more than one way to interpret the phrase, da? I do not think your boss need find out about this." Pushing a knee into America's crotch and creating delicious friction, Russia added with a devilish grin. "Say it."

Breathing heavily and eyes still closed, America thrusted against Ivan's knee and muttered, "I—I want to become o-one with you."

Leaning in so that he could nibble America's earlobe, Russia growled huskily, "Louder."

"I want to become one with you!" exclaimed America, his voice cracking.

"Excellent…"

Wasting no time, Russia quickly, and to America's surprise, expertly, undid America's pants. The Slavic man purred throatily in approval at what he saw. America knew that if Russia had been giving him head when making that noise that it would have been over before it really had begun. America was so distracted by this thought that he cried out when Russia's naked and fully erected cock rubbed against his.

Instinctively, America bucked against Russia, craving the irrepressible friction that sent shockwaves through his body, but he was denied access as he found himself being rearranged by Russia. When the russkie was done, America was on his hands and knees, shivering in anticipation and cold. His hands and knees were touching the bare ice, and most of his clothes had been removed.

For a brief moment, Russia thought about just thrusting in without warning, but as they were already going to be working without adequate lube, he reluctantly decided against it.

Instead, he reached forward and stuck two fingers in America's mouth. Eager to please as always, the Yankee licked and sucked the Slavic's fingers until Russia really wanted to make the younger man give him a blowjob.

He held back, saving the thought for another day, and pulled out his fingers now covered in America's salvia. So, to make up for no immediate thrust, Russia inserted his two fingers without warning. America yelped in surprise, but almost immediately began half-thrusting back onto the Slav's fingers which were swirling and scissoring the moist cavern as if it was where they went for vacation all the time.

Russia waited until America was practically borsch in his hands before removing his fingers and transferring their lubrication to his own burning dick. When he was satisfied, Russia braced himself at America's entrance, ready. America gave another little half-thrust and Russia took the hint. He pushed in all the way.

America let out a loud scream, of both pain and pleasure. He honestly hadn't thought Russia would fill him up so much, but the younger nation had no time to think about it. Russia got straight to business.

As Russia began to assert a quick rhythm to his movements, America mimicked them, moaning and whimpering as he did so. The pain was still present, but the pleasure overrode everything America felt.

Not wanting to go down as a man who didn't provide the full service, Russia reached around America's hips and grabbed the Yankee's hardened penis. America thrust back a little harder when he felt the warm fingers begin to rub his cock up and down. His prey's eagerness pleased Russia, and it made him want to keep doing this for hours. However, even Russia was only a man, and he could only hold out for so long.

"I-Ivan! I'm gonna—"

"No," Russia squeezed America's member tighter as he began to thrust faster, "you are not to come until I tell you."

America's pitiful whimper caused a flash of warmth to fill Russia, and he came inside the younger man. Russia pulled out and turned America around so that his ass touched the ice. America hissed as the ice soothed and chilled his butt.

Confused though, America met Russia's eyes. All he was the hunger-lust. His confusion melted when the Slav leaned forward and practically inhaled his dick.

Then, just like he predicted, Russia hummed in the back of his throat, and America came in his new lover's mouth.

Licking his lips, Russia sat up, power radiating off him. "Good job Alfred; you're stellar at obeying commands."

Panting, his face incredibly red, America just rolled his eyes, unable to move. Russia merely smirked; America was smiling too.

"Let us get off the ice. There is still much I want you to do for me." America didn't think he would ever get over how Russia ordered him to do things, but he didn't even think of arguing as he was assisted in pulling his pants back up.

He wanted to find out what those things were.

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

A/N: I know the Olympics were like, ages ago, but I swear I wrote this around that time. As for the quality of the lemon, sorry if it sucks. It's the first I've actually posted. XD Review if ya want, it serves only to boost my ego~


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